by Steve Holmes
The sobbing had subsided slightly as Dorothy drew strength from the body of her husband. When he was with her everything in the world felt better. Sara Ellen spoke.
‘Maybe it’s a good idea to get away for a few days, John. I think it would do Dorothy the world of good. You need some time on your own.’
John hadn’t even thought about it but suddenly had an urge to get away from it all. As much as he enjoyed life back in his home town surrounded by both families he wanted to take Dorothy away somewhere pretty, on their own so they could spend some real husband and wife time together and of course talk about the imminent birth of their new child. She needed to forget about Cliff, if only temporarily.
The honeymoon in Blackpool was good but he wanted something a little more. He took a firm stand and at first Dorothy resisted. However between him and her mother, eventually she succumbed. Eventually she agreed and he suggested she started packing a bag.
‘Where will we go?’
John shrugged his shoulders.
‘I haven’t got a clue but we’ll find somewhere.’
They’d been sitting for just over an hour when Sara Ellen Shaw made the suggestion. ‘They say the Peak District is nice this time of year, a little snow on the fells and the leaves of the trees a thousand different colours.’
John and Dorothy looked at each other and both knew instinctively what the other was thinking. The Peak District was a great idea, absolutely perfect. Quiet enough and yet plenty to see and do.
Sarah Ellen had already located the railway timetable and announced that a train left for Derby at 9.37 the following morning.
They booked into a small bed and breakfast just off the main street in Whaley Bridge.
‘Greta Haven’ was a beautiful old house at the top of a hill just off the main street ran by a delightful elderly lady called Olive Bryson. She couldn’t do enough for them especially when John disclosed what it was he was doing in the war. Both of Mrs Bryson’s sons were on active service in the RAF somewhere in the Far East.
Bed and Breakfast became Bed, Breakfast and Evening Meal as Mrs Bryson insisted on cooking for them every night. John and Dorothy weren’t complaining, her cooking was superb and she insisted it was all included in the price they had agreed at the beginning of the stay. They wandered down to a few pubs in the town centre that evening and when they returned Mrs Bryson had a map of the area unfurled on the kitchen table.
‘You have to make the most of your time here. Have you been to the Peak District before?’
Dorothy had been to Glossop as a young child but couldn’t quite remember it and John announced this was his first trip to the area.
‘You have to visit some of our beautiful lakes and try and wander up a fell or two.’ She looked at Dorothy. ‘It will do you good my dear… especially in your condition.’
John and Dorothy were flabbergasted. Yes, Dorothy had a bump, but the baggy winter woollies and top coat certainly wouldn’t have given the game away, she was slightly built and it wasn’t obvious she was pregnant.
Dorothy flushed as she spoke. ‘You can tell?’
‘Oh I can tell dear, don’t you worry about that.’
Mrs Bryson quickly changed the subject.
‘You’ll need to see Ladybower Reservoir, they had to flood two of our villages to construct it but I confess it’s a beautiful site and a bus leaves from the town centre every day at 10.40. You can have a nice lie in and a little cooked breakfast and be there by noon.’
The bus left on time and made its way eastwards towards the reservoir. It was a beautiful crisp sunny day and the fells burst into colour as soon as the bus hit the open road. It was nice to get away he thought as he sat holding Dorothy’s hand as they both stared out of the window in awe of the beautiful countryside around them. It seemed like a different world and John promised himself he’d be back to this part of the world soon, with his son or daughter and other members of the family when they eventually came along.
Everything changed as the bus pulled into the village of Ashopton. Military police were everywhere and the road that led down to the lake was sealed off.
‘What’s going on John?’
He shook his head. ‘I haven’t got a clue.’ He spotted an RAF uniform standing by the road block.
‘Look there’s one of our boys I’ll ask him.’
John walked over and introduced himself, took out his RAF ID card and showed it to the men on the road block. By way of an introduction he said he was stationed at RAF St Athans and had a few days’ leave.
‘My wife and I were really hoping to see the lake today. What’s going on?’
The RAF man spoke. ‘Bit of a top secret exercise I’m afraid, old bean. You won’t get to see the lake today, not from ground level anyway. My advice is to head out of the village and take the route to the fells. They have part of it sealed off but if you show them your ID they may let you through.’ He smiled. ‘After all it is an RAF exercise.’
‘What type of exercise?’ asked John.
‘Can’t tell you any more I’m afraid and to be quite honest I don’t know the full ins and outs myself.’
Just then they were almost deafened as a RAF Lancaster flew over the village at a height of no more than a few hundred feet. The man grinned.
‘That should give you a clue Flight Engineer Holmes. Simulated bombing on the lake I’m led to believe and that’s as much as I know.’
John thanked him and walked back out into the village.
‘Where are we going John?’
He took Dorothy’s hand.
‘You heard Mrs Bryson, a little stroll up a fell will do you the world of good.’
The track was long but not too arduous. They took their time and after about thirty minutes they reached an opening in the forest that gave them an unrestricted view of the lake. John had counted four different Lancaster’s during the time it took to climb up to around 1,000 feet.
Dorothy’s cheeks were flushed red and she was breathing a little hard.
‘We don’t need to go any further, this will be fine.’
‘Thank God for that,’ she said as she loosened the buttons of her coat. ‘I’m walking for two you know.’
John stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her. He pulled her tight into him, took in the smell of her perfume combined with the crisp, unpolluted air. The smell was heaven, unlike anything he had ever smelled before. They looked down onto the lake. A fine mist lay undisturbed a few feet above the calm dark water and John could just about make out a family of swans drifting with no sense of purpose in the idyllic setting. He couldn’t help feeling a little envious of the swans, no war to fight, no need to kill or to fight. Just peace and quiet.
‘It’s beautiful John, simply beautiful.’
Before John could answer he heard the distant familiar drones of aeroplane engines. He took a while to locate them but sure enough they were coming in from the west.
‘There Dot, look there.’
The Lancasters reduced altitude as they approached the lake. They flew in formation one behind the other, no more than a hundred feet apart. The planes were almost approaching the head of the lake as they reduced their height even further. John’s heart was in his mouth as the planes went lower and lower. It looked as if they were almost touching the lake.
‘Jesus Christ, they’re flying at no more than thirty feet, perhaps less.’ He turned to Dorothy. ‘That RAF chap got it wrong, they won’t be dropping bombs from that height, it must just be a low level exercise. I can’t understand why everything was so secretive. ‘
The planes flew the length of the lake, sometimes no more than twenty feet from the top of the water as if in some bizarre competition to see who could get the lowest. They climbed quickly as they approached the far side. John’s attention had been taken by something at the far end of the lake. Was he seeing things? A crude yellow and black construction stood at the east end of the lakeshore. Dorothy had spotted it too.
‘
What is it?’
‘Beats me, it just looks like a huge big wall.’
The Lancasters had turned and circled the lake. They flew out westwards once again. Within five minutes they were back to repeat the exercise.
Now John was puzzled. ‘I don’t understand…their bomb doors are open…’
The first Lancaster had just reached the shore of the lake flying in at fifty feet. The pilot brought the huge plane ever nearer to the water. John’s heart was in his mouth as he realised it had dropped something.
‘There, look Dot, he’s dropped a…’
‘Bomb?’
John shook his head. ‘No it’s too low…it’s a…’
The dummy device hit the water and John was totally unprepared for what happened next.
‘Well bugger me!’
‘What’s it doing John?’
‘I don’t believe it…it’s…it’s bouncing along the water like a stone skipping the waves.’
‘What’s bouncing, John, what is it?’
John was grinning now as he looked at the wall and saw the other Lancasters coming in dropping what looked like huge black footballs. It was clear they were aiming for the man-made structure at the far end of the lake before climbing steeply into the sky.
‘I was wrong, Dot.’
‘What about?’
‘I said they weren’t dropping bombs but they are. They’re dropping bouncing bombs.’
Dorothy watched as another Lancaster came in for a repeat run.
‘A bouncing bomb John? Bombs don’t bounce, you idiot!’
‘He’s too low. Good God he must be touching the top of the water.’
The pilot dropped his dummy bomb from less than twenty feet. His speed was too slow and as the bomb bounced back up from the water it clipped the tail of the Lancaster. The pilot could do nothing as the whole tail section sheared off and the nose of the plane propelled into the water. The whole plane broke up and shattered on impact as if it had crashed into concrete.
Dorothy’s scream pierced the silence as she buried her head into John’s coat. He held her tight, unable to take his eyes from the wreckage that now littered the lake. She was inconsolable, sobbing uncontrollably. She knew instinctively that everyone on board had died. And in less than a split second she was only too well aware of just how dangerous it was to be a member of RAF aircrew.
CHAPTER SIX
Back at St Athans the assessments and examinations went on and on, week after week.
On 4th April 1943, John and the rest of the assembled class awaited the results of a particularly difficult test. For two weeks they’d had lectures on the Stirling’s throttle settings, propeller variable pitch lever positions and studied numerous pamphlets on the very temperamental engine and oil pressure gauges which were prone to overheating. John was fairly certain he could recall the engine cowling gill positions in his sleep and he knew the manuals back to front. He was confident, 100% confident that he’d passed the tests and wouldn’t need to resit. So he wasn’t too anxious when a Flying Officer interrupted the teacher and appeared to be pointing at him. John broke the eye contact, had a flick through one of the manuals that lay on his desk.
‘John Holmes.’ John rose to his feet, stood to attention.
‘Yes Sir.’
‘Flight Engineer.’
‘Yes Sir.’
‘I’m afraid you’re going back home to Lancaster.’
John shook his head in a slow motion as he felt his legs begin to give way at the knees. He was about to protest in no uncertain terms when he noticed the Flying Officer and the teacher laughing. By now some of the class were looking at him and they were smiling too. He looked around the class then back to the front.
‘I…I don’t understand, Sir.’
The Flying Officer broke out into raucous laughter.
‘You should do Flight Engineer. You should understand very well. Get back to your billet and pack a bag. A car is waiting to take you to Cardiff. Your wife has gone into labour and you are about to become a father.’
John Holmes ran from the classroom to the cheers of his colleagues ringing in his ears.
On the train he read a letter that had been given to him. He had to report to Lancaster Royal Infirmary as soon as he could. Unusually, Dorothy hadn’t had the child at home. The Lancaster Royal Infirmary had a new maternity annexe in Haverbreaks.
It was all over by the time John arrived at the hospital. Sara Ellen Shaw stood at the front gates of the hospital pacing back and forth. She’d heard the running boots of her son in law way off in the distance. John ran the whole way from the railway station and for once thanked the sadist of a RAF PT instructor for maintaining his high fitness level. Dorothy’s mother had a look on her face that he’d never seen before. Sara Ellen walked over to greet him.
‘Congratulations son. Congratulations.’ She shook his hand warmly placing a friendly hand on his shoulder and kissed him gently on the cheek.
‘What is it, where is she, is she well, is it well, what is it?’ Dorothy’s mother reached for the RAF standard issue bag that John held in his hands.
‘Everyone’s fine John, just calm down.’ She pointed to a large stone built building standing on its own in the far corner of the spacious grounds. ‘Your wife is in the new maternity annexe over there with your new baby and I think it should be her who answers all of your questions. I’ll wait here with your bag, now get going.’
John nodded and suddenly he didn’t seem to want to move so fast. Once inside he asked directions from a stern looking matron and she pointed down a long sterile white corridor.
‘Keep on walking,’ she announced, ‘fifty yards down on the left.’
It was a big open ward with lots of beds but somehow, as if some strange power took over, his eyes fell on a bed on the far side of the room. He walked over.
Dorothy was asleep; the infant wrapped in fluffy white towelling nestled into her breast. They were both sleeping… at peace with the world. John pulled up a chair unsure of what to do next. The chair clattered off the metal bed frame and Dorothy awoke with a start. For a split second the moment was frozen in time and then Dorothy broke out into a big beaming smile. She looked radiant, happier and more content than he could ever remember. She prised the cover from the child’s head, John leaned forward.
‘Meet your son, John.’
John wanted to burst into tears and did his best to control himself. His eyes glazed over and his life changed in that remarkable, amazing, emotional moment. It was truly indescribable as a strange warm feeling enveloped him. He took Dorothy’s hand and kissed her gently on the lips. ‘I can’t believe it Dorothy, he’s beautiful, you look beautiful. You seem to have taken everything in your stride.’ He kissed her again and whispered quietly.
‘You are one truly remarkable woman, Dorothy Holmes. You’ve made me the happiest man on the planet.’
Dorothy stroked the side of the face.
‘It’s so good to see you John. You look a million dollars in that kit.’
John had forgotten. It was the first time Dorothy had seen him in uniform.
John looked down at his son again, couldn’t quite believe the perfect bundle that his wife held. Who said newborn babies were like wrinkled prunes? He traced a finger gently along the baby’s nose. The child stirred, reacted to its father’s touch.
‘I want him to wake up.’
Dorothy smiled. ‘Can’t be doing that John, you should never wake a sleeping baby.’
A young nurse walked over and told John he only had one hour to go, then the doctor would be making his rounds. John looked at his watch.
‘We’d better get on with it Dot.’
Dorothy looked at him with a puzzled expression on her face.
‘His name, Dorothy – what are we going to call him?’
Dorothy stroked at his tiny shock of dark hair.
‘I’ve already thought of that,’ she said, ‘I was thinking of calling him John.’
John f
elt the tears welling up once more.
‘After me? Fantastic, wonderful, brilliant.’
Dorothy smirked.
‘Don’t get too big headed and full of yourself, Mr Holmes, I was thinking about my father actually!’
John’s mouth fell open as he started to laugh.
‘Well I never.’ He sat back down in the seat and took stock of the situation before announcing.
‘Very well. If you’re naming him after your father then we’ll name him after mine too.’
John reached across and lifted the tiny bundle onto his lap. He gazed down as the child’s eyes flickered open.
‘Welcome to the world John William…welcome to the world. It’s not much of a world at the moment but me and my Stirling will sort it all out for you. That’s a promise’
The trip back to St Athans seemed a little quicker than the first time John made the journey but it was a hundred times harder climbing on the train to be waved off by his wife as she cradled their first born child in their arms. The long journey gave John time to think and ponder the many questions that hadn’t been answered and probably never would. He was a little happier knowing that at least her and John William would be relatively safe and well cared for and fussed over by the two respective families. But why did he have to leave her and his newborn son? Why couldn’t he lay his head on the pillow next to them each night? He wanted a normal marriage; he wanted to play the role of the father to the full, watch young John take his first steps, utter his first word, play with him in the park and push him in his pram and show him how beautiful the Crook O’ Lune was. It wasn’t to be. What a crazy world. Why did arguments over land have to be settled by warfare? Why did millions and millions of young men and women have to be slaughtered? And he wondered when the war was over would anybody learn.
John Holmes lay on his bunk the night of May 16th 1943. His thoughts were with his family, his young son and Dorothy and he wondered about the whereabouts of his brothers James and Ernie. As he dozed certain images filled his head and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t shake the strange, almost vivid recollection of the day he stood on the fell with Dorothy watching the men with the bouncing bombs. It was crystal clear, why did it suddenly seem that way, tonight of all nights?
